


Mani-Pedi

by leupagus



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/pseuds/leupagus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I figured we'd be okay, I mean, I'm amazing and do you know how many women would line to have that kneeling at their feet?" Mary sighs, glaring at where Steve is, at the moment, cleaning up the debris of an over-excited ten-year-old who'd spilled her nail polish of choice all over the chair.</p><p>"I wonder if it counts as sexual harassment when it's your own brother," Danny wonders, and Mary punches him in the shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mani-Pedi

**Author's Note:**

> This is a forfeit to sheafrotherdon, who was right when she predicted that Kono would not, in fact, be killed off in the first episode of the second season. Just another reason for me to try to be a more optimistic person.

"So this is a nail... place," Danny says. He makes a big show of picking out a bottle of bright purple nail polish and waving it at Grace, who giggles and looks around. Ohana Nail and Beauty Salon is worth the look; small but clean, professional without being sterile. Danny didn't even think Hawaii had nail salons the way they did in Newark, and taking in the soft Don Ho music and the fake tiki lights in the corners, he supposes they don't, really.

A young woman with dirty-blonde hair looks up from where she's working on a very, very old woman with fingernails that could put a jaguar to shame. "Can I... help you?" she asks, looking a little baffled.

Danny realizes the counter's too high for her to see Grace. "Uh, yeah. My daughter," he says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "She wants to do the thing with the," and he waves his hand, because for some reason he forgets the word. "The thing with the feet."

"The thing with the feet?" she repeats, a slow grin spreading across her face. She turns her head to the back of the shop and yells, "Hey, someone wants a thing with the feet!"

From behind some swishy beaded curtain, a man emerges, looking like some sort of Chippendale's idea of a surfer bum. His dark brown hair is cropped close and he's got a week-old beard, a plaid shirt buttoned up haphazardly over ugly cargo pants and flip flops. He ambles up to the counter and leans over it, blinking slowly down at Grace, who returns the gaze solemnly. "Howzit," he tells her.

"Hello, sir," she says, and fumbles for Danny's hand. He squeezes it gently, and the guy grins, looking up at Danny through ridiculous eyelashes.

"So, a thing with the feet. I'm assuming you meant a pedicure?"

" _Yes_ , a pedicure," Danny snaps, not sure why he's snapping. But the guy just grins wider and props himself up on an elbow against the counter.

"Sure thing. One pedicure or two?" the guy asks.

"One, thank you," Danny tells him, then turns to Grace. "You sure you don't want a manicure, too, Monkey?" He cringes even while he says it, because this place is not cheap, not by any stretch of the imagination, and the mani-pedi deal isn't much of a deal if it means Danny's eating Ramen for the next week, but he gets Grace for two days and she's going to enjoy every minute of it.

But Grace just shakes her head, her pigtails whipping across her face. "It's okay, Danno," with that sort of pitying look that Danny's really getting depressingly familiar with. It's not fair that his eight-year-old has to worry about his financial well-being, it just isn't. "I like your manicures better, anyway."

The woman, who's been doing something with what looks like a one of those hand dryer machines, gets up and moves to the counter. "You give killer manicures, huh?" she asks. She's got the same grin as the guy, and Danny wonders if they're related.

"I do," he confirms, because he's comfortable admitting that, especially since the guy in plaid seems to work here, too. "I've been highly praised for my manicurial work, I'll have you know."

"I'll bet," the guy says.

"Are you doubting me?" Danny asks. "Monkey, show them your nails."

Grace wiggles her free hand at them; her fingernails are bright pink with glitter, which had been a bitch to keep from going all over her fingers. The woman looks grudgingly impressed. "Not bad," she allows.

"Not bad, it's better than you could do any day of the week," Danny says, "Right, Gracie?"

She nods, and the woman laughs.

"All right, hot shot. Make you a deal. You and me," she says, elbowing the guy in the ribs for no reason Danny can tell. "You'll take miss - what's your name, sweetie?" she asks Grace.

"Grace," she says, a little quieter than Danny would like but it's not like her shyness is going away any time soon.

"Miss Grace," the woman says, and sticks out her hand. "I'm Mary. It's very nice to meet you." They shake hands and Mary returns her attention to Danny. "I'll take one hand, you take the other, and whoever has the best manicure wins."

"And what do I win, other than your adulation and respect?" Danny asks.

"Free pedicure for Miss Grace here," Mary says. "But if you lose, you pay, plus you get a pedicure, too."

"And who's gonna be the judge, huh?" Danny asks.

"Me," rumbles the guy, who's been watching them silently this whole time.

"Right, because you're impartial."

Mary shrugs. "He doesn't really like me," she says, "So he's probably as impartial as you're gonna get."

Grace tugs at Danny, and when he looks down she's beaming at him. It's been a while since he's seen that look on her face, and he's not too proud to admit he'll do whatever it takes to keep it there.

"You're on," he decides.

*

The guy turns out to be Steve, and he must really not like his sister, because Danny wins, no contest. "You might even say I win, hands down," Danny says, pleased with himself.

Steve looks constipated. "I changed my mind," he says.

"Nice try, now get to work on my daughter's toes," Danny orders. Mary, who's cleaning up the manicure station, snorts into the soaking bowl.

Scowling, Steve drags a stool over to where Grace's already settled into a big armchair-type thing. "You sure you don't want one of these?" he asks, as Danny plops down on another chair.

"No," Danny says, firm. He doesn't have any problem with it in theory, but in practice, the thought of someone else touching his feet is just weird. Grace doesn't seem to think so, though; she wriggles her toes and splashes her feet in the water and in general has the best time, which means Danny is more than willing to ignore the teasing Steve and Mary aim in his direction about his latent gift. By the time Grace squeezes her feet, complete with that funky foam thing in between her toes, into her sandals, he's even growing to like them, the way they complete each other's sentences only to argue the other side in the next breath. He feels alone in Hawaii, surrounded by laid-back suntanned people who never seem to get bothered by anything, but caught between the Bickersons here he feels at home for the first time in months.

Mary stops them at the door, a gleam in her eye. "So listen," she says, "You're a cop."

Danny doesn't want to tense up, but it's Pavlovian at this point, after almost fifteen years on the job. "Yeah," he allows.

"So you're on the four-on, four-off schedule," she persists, and this is not going in a direction Danny expected.

"Uh," he says.

"What I mean is, you're mostly off from, like, seven to seven, except for every fourth day or whatever."

"You're asking me questions in a way that's mostly just telling me things," Danny says.

"Okay, so let me ask you a question that's really a question," she says. "You want a job?"

*

And that's how Danny gets roped into Ohana Nail and Beauty, propping up the weird brother-sister act that's been limping along trying to carry the business ever since the recession hit and people - even tourists - started tightening their purse strings.

"I figured we'd be okay, I mean, I'm amazing and do you know how many women would line to have that kneeling at their feet?" Mary sighs, glaring at where Steve is, at the moment, cleaning up the debris of an over-excited ten-year-old who'd spilled her nail polish of choice all over the chair.

"I wonder if it counts as sexual harassment when it's your own brother," Danny wonders, and Mary punches him in the shoulder.

"Whatever, your job is to strive for equal hotness, since I know you cannot hope to equal my amazing, got it?" she orders, as the doors open and a group of school-aged girls giggle their way to the counter.

"Yes, boss," Danny salutes.

*

Business doesn't seem to be too bad, in all honesty; it brings in enough money for Danny to get out of his crappy apartment and into a one-and-a-half bedroom that he doesn't have to fight the rats and the cockroaches for. Grace is thrilled, because now every weekend she spends with Danny she gets her mani-pedi and increasingly elaborate and ridiculous nail designs, courtesy of Steve, who seems completely unbothered by the fact that he's wrapped around Grace's finger.

A couple months in business seems to be up enough for them to hire a part-time receptionist, a tall, quiet kid whose real actual name is Junior, and who is probably the worst receptionist in the world.

"Second-worst," Mary corrects cheerfully. "At least this one doesn't fart in front of the clients." From nearby, Steve snorts, and Danny never does get the full story on that one.

Steve and Danny start doing a fun little tag-team with the clientele, each taking a foot or a hand and sniping back and forth, trying to synch up their work as closely as possible. Mary accuses them of having threesomes with every client they get in the chair and Steve laughs, but it's a little uncomfortably close to the truth; Steve's hands covered in lotion, smoothing up a woman's leg, or carefully massaging the palm of a hand - it makes Danny's breath hitch, just a little bit, and now is not the time to wonder about why.

Except he knows why.

*

The only real problem with this little scenario is work - his actual, real job, the job he's known how to do since he was eighteen. Meka finds out about a week into it what Danny's doing on the side and makes fun of him for a month solid, but he agrees that the rest of HPD's finest do not need more reasons to give Danny a hard time.

"I mean, I'm not sure why they would," Meka sighs. "Half the detectives and almost all the officers are doing some job on the side to make ends meet."

Danny glares at him. "I found a bottle of Aqua Net in my locker yesterday. _Yesterday_. I've been here, how long? And they still make the jokes about Jersey."

"Ooh, yeah," Meka says, sucking on his teeth. "Cold. But hilarious," he adds.

But of course, that doesn't last. One afternoon the door opens and a trio come in, arguing about where they're going to get lunch, when the guy in the group breaks off and blinks at Steve. "McGarrett?" he says. "Steve McGarrett?"

"Chin Ho Kelly," Steve says, in that way you do when you're hoping you've got the right guy for the right name. They give each other the classic bro-hug complete with back-slapping and start talking about high school and football and Junior gets roped into the conversation, smiling for maybe the first time ever.

The two women, meanwhile, have latched onto Mary, although there's none of the hail-brother-well-met shenanigans going on; it looks like they don't know each other and Mary's just falling into the general cheerful inappropriateness that she always does. Mary glances over and notices Danny, waves him over.

"This is Danny, he's our best guy for the job," she says, which is the most praise he's ever wrangled out of her. "Danny, this is Kono and Malia, they're here for a pre-wedding mani-pedi."

"Sure, okay," Danny says, and the younger girl, Kono, is familiar - oh shit.

"Wait, Detective _Williams_?" she says, delighted.

There's a lot of sharing in the next few hours. Kono is actually Officer Kalakaua, who helped him and Meka with an escaped convict a few weeks ago. "You've got a hell of a left hook," Danny tells her.

"I'm seeing someone," she says, cheerful, waggling her toes in the warm soaking water. "But I'm flattered."

Kelly and Kalakaua agree to keep it quiet - "Believe it or not," Kelly says, nodding over at where Malia is deciding between Blush and Bashful as her nail colors, "I've got other things on my mind," - but Danny's already resigning himself to the inevitable. Sure enough, it arrives a few days after Malia and Kelly tie the knot; a half-dozen of HPD's not-so-finest come swaggering into the salon, leaning against the counter with all the nonchalant menace of a gang of two-bit mobsters back in Jersey. Junior takes one look and shrinks to about half his size, hunching up in his chair and refusing to make eye contact.

"Can I help you sirs," he mutters, and just like that Steve is up, making his way toward the front. Mary and Danny are trapped, working on their regular Tuesday old lady who comes in every week to get her bunions buffed, but Steve's all friendly menace and looming muscles.

"Come about the license, wanted to make sure everything was up to code," says Miller - a sergeant, hates Danny, thinks he's an idiot for moving all this way "just for some kid." Danny hates him back, with interest.

"Really, and you needed five of your finest officers to do that?" Steve demands.

"Nah, they just came for the fun of seeing Jersey over there scrubbing feet. You liking your moonlighting, Jersey?" Miller calls.

"Don't you pay any mind to them," says Mrs. Kamana, reaching out to pat Danny on the shoulder. "They're just bullies, it's like school all over again."

"Yeah, complete with the mob that outnumbers you," Mary mutters next to him, and Danny can't help it, he smiles.

"Hope you do a better painting little daisies on nails then you do at your real job. Or maybe this is your real job," Miller says, offhand and Steve's saying something, but too quiet for Danny to hear, and if there's an honest-to-God brawl today then he doesn't even know what.

"Excuse me just one second, gorgeous," he tells Mrs. Kamana, and she laughs as he gets to his feet.

Junior's got one hand on Steve's shoulder, tugging at him, while Miller and his gang are having a good chuckle. It gets louder as Danny approaches, and he realizes he's got his apron on.

Well, fuck it. "Care for a mani-pedi, gentlemen? Or maybe an eyebrow wax, you--" he points to some punk officer, too young to shave reliably, "--you could do with a facial, maybe some exfoliant work. Girls don't like zits on a guy who's supposed to be paying his own rent, you know what I mean?"

"Hey," Miller says, uncertain, but the punk brightens up a little.

"Does that kind of thing work?"

Danny spreads out his hand. "Does it work, of course it works, let me tell you, Mary over there, she's gotten people's faces worked out so their own mother doesn't recognize them. It's a whole thing, she can give you a nutrition plan and a cleansing regimen. Change your dating life, I can guarantee."

The punk glances at Miller, then subsides, but another officer pipes up, "Uh, nutrition plan? Like, making you eat rabbit food and shit?"

By the looks of things, this guy could use a little rabbit food, but Danny shakes his head. "Nah, it's more like figuring out why you like eating certain things, and getting you to have that level of satisfaction, but with healthier food. I mean, a potato chip isn't gonna get replaced by a lettuce leaf any time soon, am I right? But she's got some good ideas. And I mean, look at her brother, this gentlemen here is a pretty good guarantee, you know?"

"I am?" Steve asks.

"Yes, you are."

"Oh."

"And you know, for the average beat cop, especially the ones working the downtown walking beats, I know it sounds silly but you get yourself a pedicure, for the next three days you feel like you're walking on clouds." This gets the other three officers looking considerably more cheerful, and within five minutes Miller's standing alone at the counter while his posse cluster around Mary and Mrs. Kamana, peppering them with questions and examining the base coat nail polish that's sitting out.

Miller glowers, but Danny and Steve are a united front. "If you examine that license, Officer," Steve says, "You'll notice I have a right to refuse service for any reason. And right now? I'm refusing service. To you," he adds helpfully.

"You--" Miller starts, thrusting a finger at Steve's face, but Danny comes between him because he can only imagine what Steve'll do to someone who does that.

"Look, Miller, you had your fun, we had ours, let's call it a day, all right? And if you want to come back and talk to somebody about that unibrow, I'm just saying, might not be a bad--" he's interrupted by the door slamming behind Miller as he storms out.

The rest of the day is pretty busy; words gets out fast, and before closing they have a few more HPD, nobody looking to make fun but everyone shyly asking about pedicures and massages and exfoliating treatments. "We're going to have to hire more staff, this keeps up," Steve marvels at one point.

"A place that actually makes money, what a novel concept," Danny says.

They close down late, Mary dashing off to DJ at a local club, leaving Steve and Danny to lock up. "That was kind of impressive, Danno," Steve says, counting the cash a third time. "I didn't figure you'd be able to seduce all those guys to the dark side."

Danny shrugs. "What can I say, I'm a seductive guy." And that gets Steve's gaze snapping up, speculative, but all he says is, "We should get out of here before someone else tries to get a mani-pedi."

They get outside and Steve fusses with the lock the way he always does. It's already dark, a light sprinkle of rain on the hood of their cars. "So you think I'm a pretty good guarantee?" Steve says, pulling a jacket on because God forbid the guy deal with sixty-five degree weather.

For a second, Danny doesn't know what he's talking about - then this afternoon's confrontation hits him and he can actually feel himself turning red. "Well, you know. If you're into that kind of thing, I guess."

Steve nods thoughtfully. "And just for the record, you are."

"I am?" Danny's got the horrible feeling that he might've squeaked.

Steve smiles, slow and broad. "Yes, you are."

"Oh," Danny says, and he might've thought of more to say, but Steve's pressing him up against the hood of his Camaro, cupping his jaw and kissing him, and there's not much that needs saying.  



End file.
